Owen can call his grandfather by a name now. We have always referred to Mr. Moon as Pop-Pop and Owen calls him Bop.
Are you kidding? He calls his grandfather by a name but I still remain nameless? What? The child can't say Grandmother?
He can also say "more" which I have spoken of before. He says more all the time. It is his most frequently used word. More grapes, more cracker, more turkey, more books, more balls, more playing with the light switch, more holding him. More, more, more.
It's a huge world of mores, people.
He can climb up his changing table and lie in position to have his diaper changed.
He can say, "fall." This does not surprise me. He falls off of things all the time because he never quits climbing. Chairs, tables, changing tables. Whatever you got, he'll climb it.
He can say "Elmo." It's more like "Melmo," but it's clear enough.
He can say "mermaid." He kisses every mermaid he can get his lips on whether in books or hanging on walls.
He raises his hand like that kid on the first row when the teacher asks a question if he sees a pretty girl. I am not kidding. He really does. Raises his hand and looks at her as if to say, "Hey! I'm cute! Check me out!"
He can point to all the things on the pages in his books. Where is the dog, the cat, the ball, the grapes, the strawberries, the bananas, the balloon, the socks, etc.
He can put the broom away by himself. Where it goes. After he sweeps.
If you ask him to go get his doll, he does.
He is learning to sleep by himself.
He still loves to nurse.
He can wipe his own hands and face.
He can squish tomatoes and send seeds flying everywhere and then laugh. He calls tomatoes "moes."
He can say dog and cat and meow and cow and moo and of course he can imitate the rooster. He can say apple. And beer, of course. Every bottle is "beer" to Owen. I find this only slightly disturbing.
He laughs when I burp and make funny faces or sounds or "find" him when we play peek-a-boo.
He can throw his head back and his tummy out and laugh like a man.
He can kiss his doll like a daddy.
He can operate the toilet paper roller quite well.
He can wrap his arms around me, he has wrapped my heart up in those arms.
He is not yet fifteen months old and he has a pretty good working knowledge of a great many things and a vast understanding of the English language.
He can charm me with a smile. He can make me laugh with a look. He can make me do anything he wants.
He is all the babies I have ever loved.
He is no one but himself.
He is Owen and I love him.
And he better give me a name soon because I am jealous as hellfire of his naming his grandfather. "Bop," indeed.
And when he says that, Bop, when I point to a picture of Mr. Moon and ask, "Who is that, Owen?" my heart melts and I am in love with the world.